


Don't Wake Me Up

by vodkabite



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Horror Story Fusion, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Bottom Nicole Haught, Dark, F/F, Ghosts, Oral Sex, Smut, The Homestead is the Murder House, Top Waverly Earp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkabite/pseuds/vodkabite
Summary: Waverly knows Nicole is her soulmate. She can feel it in her bones that they were meant to be together. But Nicole doesn’t know it yet, and that’s okay. Waverly will wait forever if she must.After all, she’s already dead.(Re-upload!)





	Don't Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Volerian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volerian/gifts).



> First and foremost, I would like to thank you for reading/commenting/bookmarking/kudos on my recent fics and for this one. It really means a lot to me that you all enjoy my writing so much and you guys are what push me to write more stories, namely more in this particular style. This massive one-shot has been close to a two month endeavor that I had written for October/Halloween and I hope that you all enjoy.
> 
> Also, readers of ["Monsters Under Your Bed"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005100), please be aware that the story will be rewritten.  
>  
> 
> _Special thanks to my good friend Volerian, who without her support this fic would have most likely been done half assed. You're the best dude!_
> 
>  
> 
> **HAPPY EARLY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!**
> 
> EDIT: I deleted the story by accident when fixing some grammar mistakes. Sorry!

_I been living in the frozen frame of_  
_A film rolling in an endless loop_  
  
_The picture you took in the moment when I_  
_Don't wake me up, don't wake me_  
  
_I see you standing on top of your mountain_  
_Looking down from the highest dune_  
  
_The lens snaps to material postures_  
_Don't wake me up, don't wake me_

 _—_ “Don’t Wake Me” by Robots Don’t Sleep

 

 

It’s a sunny Saturday morning when Wynonna rouses Waverly out of her sleep to watch the new people moving into the homestead. She groans at her sister’s incessant excitement, but she reluctantly agrees and Wynonna all but drags Waverly out of bed towards the living room. It’s something of a tradition in this godforsaken house, watching the new residents move in with their boxes and calling dibs on the ones you’d like to mess with for the duration of their stay.

People never stay long enough and Wynonna and Willa have turned it into a game of who can drive the people out of the house the fastest. Who can cause the most strife and pain? Waverly has never taken part in these games, except for one incident. It didn’t end well and the devious look on her sisters’ face remind her of how much she misses the time before these games started.

Waverly takes note of their strange furniture, all blacks and blues and grays, but she cocks her head to the side as she stares at a Buddha statue and resigns that at least this was a step up from the old western Dirty Harry theme Doc had going on two years earlier.

Waverly runs her fingers curiously over the boxes. Interested to see what’s inside. Wynonna, the less tactful one of the three sisters, picks up a box and unceremoniously shakes it like a kid would trying to figure out their Christmas present.

She puts it down with a casual shrug and that’s when Waverly notices that there are only two of them, two names scrawled clearly on the boxes in black marker. ‘Viktor’s’ belongings were interesting—trappings of a retired forensic psychologist who enjoyed the finer things in life like gourmet cuisines and centuries’ old wine. Wynonna obviously doesn’t take a liking, already judging the man as an upper-class snob.

Waverly is busy peering into Viktor’s boxes finding herself fascinated of all the books the man owned. At least four heavy boxes filled with nothing but dusty, old first edition classics of literature. She about to pick up a withering copy of _The Great Gatsby_ when she bumps into a box marked with the name ‘Nicole’.

She opens the box and finds nothing but trophies. Sports trophies. Wynonna lets out an impressed whistle when she pulls out a giant trophy from one of the bigger boxes.

“Well I’ll be damned, we’ve got ourselves another jock in the house,” she grins. “Hopefully she's an improvement over the last one.”

Waverly shakes her head and keeps digging into the trophy box. Most of the awards were for things like hockey, soccer and basketball. All of which indicated that whoever this Nicole person is, she’s incredibly athletic and served on the most strenuous positions. But the deeper into the box she goes, the more Waverly finds that Nicole wasn’t just some jock. She found awards and colorful ribbons dedicated to volunteer work, near perfect scores and everything else that made this girl a god given gift to mankind. A saint.

Who was this girl who participated in every known sport and won? The girl who enjoyed classic 80s and 90s music and had the box set collector’s edition of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? The girl who was valedictorian of her high school senior class? Waverly wants to see the girl, she knows she’s upstairs in what used to be _her_ room with her father noisily unpacking and while every fiber of her decrepit being ached for to go look at them—she doesn’t. There’s a certain mystery to not knowing and she savors the thrill of it.

Something she rarely does in this godforsaken house.

Willa’s already seen her, when she first came into the house with her father. Making a comment about her smelling of vanilla dipped donuts.

“She wears a lot of flannel, that one—shit, these must be the tightest leather pants I’ve ever seen!” Waverly glances at Wynonna who was looking through Nicole’s wardrobe with appreciation.

“Leave it alone, Earp.” Rosita says appearing beside the middle child and snatching the clothes away.

“Well excuse me for taking an interest. If you want the redhead you gotta call ‘dibs’.” Wynonna smirks moving around the coffee table to open another box.

“She’s a ginger?” Waverly asks. She had never really met a person with natural red hair unless they dyed it. Back in the early 2000s everyone had been obsessed with frosted tips.

“She sure is baby girl, all-natural. Hmm, I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes.”

Waverly takes a second to figure out what her sister meant, when realization strikes her, a blush colors her cheeks and she hopes that no one notices. Thankfully, the father comes down the stairs and distracts the other two.

Waverly heads up the stairs to her—now _Nicole’s_ room and finds the girl setting up her bookshelf.

 _And she’s definitely not a girl._ Nicole is a grown woman, grown enough to drink and drive a car but young enough to not know of the mysteries that laid hidden in wait in this damned world. By the looks of it, she must be at least twenty-one or twenty-two. When she turns around Waverly has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.

She’s absolutely gorgeous. With high cheekbones, beautifully pale skin and those warm, honey-golden eyes. She’s perfectly built, athletic but with a softness to her that lent deliciously well to all the tantalizing curves beneath the jeans and t-shirt. There’s a confidence about her that piques Waverly’s interest even further. Nicole, even alone in her room, is sure of herself. Each step she makes as she gets settled in is purposeful. She wasn’t some misty-eyed teen who spent her days with her nose in her books and crushing on Jonathan Taylor Thomas or some insecure dipshit who only knew how to throw a wide pass, get high and cry every time he listened to _Smells Like Teen Spirit._

No, Nicole is more than that. She’s everything Waverly had hoped to be, everything she wants. For the first time in a long time, the homestead doesn’t seem that bad anymore. It’s not a lifeless soul sucking estate, bent on ruining the little bit of humanity she had left. There’s light now.

It’s bright and warm.

And everything she’s been missing for the past few decades.

 

 

Years ago, the Homestead had been the sight of a violent triple homicide and suicide. It all happened on the morning of Easter Sunday, ironically enough. Wynonna was in the living room flirting with some boy over the phone, Willa was outside with their father Ward being taught how to shoot a gun and Waverly was upstairs in her room trying to do her calculus homework. Standard routine in the Earp household. That’s is until a single gunshot rings out, sounding a lot heavier than the usual ones. It echoed around the ranch like thunder and everything descended into chaos so rapidly, Waverly doesn’t remember much of the details of that morning. Their father had shot Willa in the back of the head in front of the barn before stomping into the house, his shirt covered in blood. Wynonna is the next one that hits the floor, this time at the top of the stairs trying to reach Waverly; she’s the only one that tries to fight back, Peacemaker in hand to stop him, but she doesn’t. She couldn’t. Waverly is then killed in her room because of it.

Everything else Wynonna fills her in when she come to hours later, seeing police officers walking around the house and the medical examiners are zipping up their bodies in giant blue bags. The hysteria of seeing her own lifeless body long over after two hours of screaming.

It was a weirdly humbling experience to say the least. Humans are fucked up, whether it’s due to their faulty wiring, or the stack of cards they’re dealt with, it all ends the same. Waverly learns months later, when a realtor scours the home looking over its value, that their father killed them because he was convinced they were possessed by “red-eyed demons and Wyatt Earp—their great, great, great grandfather—told him in a vision to get rid of them”. She also learns of her own father’s fate: self-inflicted gunshot wound off their land. Humans are incredibly fucked up and for Waverly and her sisters to learn this by paying the ultimate price is…. It's just…

She can’t even say it.

To this day, Waverly still tries to remember how everything managed to go south so quickly. Ward wasn’t a drug addict, sure he drank excessively but since when did alcoholism invoke hallucinations of a dead ancestor? Was there a chance he was suffering from some sort of mental illness? Undiagnosed, untreated schizophrenia, perhaps? She’ll never know. Waverly spent close to a year trying to figure it out until Willa smacked her upside the head and told her to forget about it. What good is trying to piece together the past when you can’t move forward?

 

 

Waverly likes Nicole from the start.

It’s hard not to. She’s beautiful, warm and—judging from the phone conversations she’s eavesdropped on—compassionate. She’s also witty, sarcastic and clever. Knew her way around a good joke or two that had Waverly laughing and even Wynonna on occasion. The brunette is also sure that she’s seen Willa smile a few times, but the eldest Earp would never admit it.

Nicole Haught is a bright light in this dreary home. Goodness personified. Hasn’t done a bad thing in her life. That’s why she finds Wynonna, the rebel without a justifiable cause, rummaging through the redhead’s things one morning while everyone is away. 

“Wynonna, what are you doing?” Waverly asks.

“Sleuthing baby girl, I’m trying to dig up some dirt on our White Knight,” the dark-haired woman responds flipping through an old scrapbook. “She’s too damned perfect. No ones that perfect.”

“Wow Wyn, you know the word ‘sleuthing’. I’m impressed.”

“Funny, but come on Waves. Help me, I’m sure we can find something in here.”

Albeit a bit reluctantly, Waverly agrees to helping Wynonna scour every inch of Nicole’s room for scandalous evidence that would tarnish her picture-perfect persona. Amazingly, after at least three hours of searching they turn up with nothing. It’s a little disheartening to know that Nicole really is a goddamn saint. Waverly bites her bottom lip in exhaustion; she couldn’t believe it. And yet, she could. Nicole was already out of her reach, widening the gap didn’t make much of a difference.

“She’s a good person, there’s nothing here that says otherwise.”

“Oh yeah, I stopped looking an hour ago. Guess I’m gonna have to scrap that dirty little bad girl fantasy in favor of—Waves, I can hear you rolling your eyes.” The younger Earp only shrugs as she watches her sister suddenly take particular interest in one of the dresser drawers. “What’s this? Well, now…”

Wynonna smirks deviously as she pulls out a pair of lacy black panties. “Good girl in the streets but a freak in the bed, my kind of gal.”

Waverly’s face instantly goes red. Briefly thinking of the redheaded beauty in less than savory positions that left a throbbing ache between her legs.

“Wynonna, put it back and let’s get out of here!” She all but shrieks in a high-pitched voice. Wynonna doesn’t notice, groaning about never getting to have any fun.

“First Rosita, now you? If you want Haughtshit to yourself you gotta call ‘dibs’, it’s a rule.”

 

 

She spends the next few weeks learning everything she can about Nicole. One would think it’d be pretty easy since they lived in the same house—technically, Nicole _lived,_ Waverly was somewhere in between—but it wasn’t working. There was still so much about her the brunette didn’t know.

At night, when Nicole is sound asleep in her bed, Waverly takes her phone from the nightstand and quietly scrolls through her Facebook, Instagram and Twitter profiles. Even there, she doesn’t find much except that she was just the average college student. Of course, there are some interesting things worth taking note: before moving to Purgatory, Nicole joined the police academy in Calgary when she was eighteen. Even took a year off after high school to completely devote her time to it. She graduated, but decided to go to Ghost River University and work on her criminology degree. Aiming to graduate with a bachelor’s degree before fully committing to police work.

She’s on the soccer and ice hockey teams, head of the line as shooters and is apparently a very popular woman among the university’s student body. She’s an incredible player, and while her dad could afford it, she was given a scholarship to play anyway. The ginger even has a nickname, ‘Haughtshot’. How fitting.

Nicole drives a Mustang, a few years old, colored in a rich shade of blue. It’s a little worn judging from some of the dents and a few scratches to the slowly fading paint job, but it’s still held in top condition.

Her best friend is Xavier Dolls. Really, the only close friend she has. She’s popular enough to the point where she has many people she can consider to be friends, but Dolls is the only one she trusts. The only one in her tiny circle. She’s smart for that and Waverly wonders if in another universe would _they_ have ever been friends.

 

 

It’s a particularly warm and quiet morning where Waverly finds herself in the gazebo out back reading one of Viktor Haught’s first editions of _The Great Gatsby_. She’s already twenty pages in when Wynonna pops up beside her with a bottle of merlot she stole from the wine cellar in the basement. There’s a delightfully devious look on her sister’s face. Usually when either of her sisters had such an expression, it’s usually because they either got laid or terrified the new homeowners. The last time she had ever seen Wynonna look so mischievous, Doc had come around and they spent their time having sex in the attic. Before that, she took immense pleasure in tripping a group of ghost hunters down the stairs.

“Just watched Haughtshit masturbate in the shower.” Taking a swig from the obviously expensive-looking wine bottle, Wynonna smiles. “Quite the show too.”

Waverly forgets how to breathe.

After being dead for so long, the Earp Sisters’ came to the conclusion that their lives now (or lack thereof) were eternally bound to the land, chances for pleasure and distractions were slim. Waverly didn’t think much about sexuality, she always considered it to be just as natural as one’s gender and while she once thought she was a perfectly straight girl, come high school it all started to change. She noticed the girls in her class, felt something stir at the pit of her stomach whenever she saw Bethany Bluebell and even shared a kiss with her best friend Chrissy Nedley. They agreed that kissing a girl was extraordinarily different from kissing a boy; it’s softer, nicer, warmer. But while the experiment didn’t mean much to Chrissy, it meant everything to Waverly.

They stayed friends afterwards, once the initial awkwardness was gone. They even had plans to enroll into Ghost River University together and try out for the softball team after graduation.

_(Look how well that went.)_

As for her sisters, they didn’t care for labels. Never did. Wynonna and Willa were pretty much the same in the sense that if they liked you, they liked you. Over the years, Waverly had watched them go through the various array of homeowners like they were cattle being led off into the slaughter the second they were given the house keys. Waverly didn’t like it. Granted, she did have a fling with one of the humans living in the house in the mid-90s, but it was purely physical and it left her feeling hollower than before.

“And why, dare I ask, why were you watching her in the shower, Wyn?”

“I was bored. Besides, I had already seen her dad in there so I figured why not see what our little White Knight hides underneath all those clothes.” The nonchalant shrug of her sister’s shoulders had grown on Waverly.

Willa had always been from one extreme to the other, either overly optimistic or overly pessimistic. But she was still an all-around bitch, even when they were alive. Wynonna was the free spirit of the family, always had been. She took everything as it came and the only time the middle Earp ever got pissed, costed Waverly her boyfriend.

“And let me tell you, Haughtshit _does not_ disappoint.” Wynonna continues, “I bet she’s quite the performer in bed too.”

Waverly shakes her head at her sister and turns her focus back to her novel. But it doesn’t work. Not when her mind drifts towards thoughts of a certain redhead. It’s a bit startling the way she thinks of her, like Nicole was something new and beautiful and never-before-seen. And in actuality, she is. The redhead wasn’t like the broken souls that had come and gone through the homestead during the past few decades.

Lost and vulnerable.

Broken.

_Oh, so broken._

Nicole Haught is so far from it, it’s kind of off-putting and attractive all at the same time. Wynonna is off on a tangent, rambling about something she saw on TV—most likely the fact that the Haughts moved in with large flat screen smart TVs and had a ball fiddling with Netflix—without the distraction, Waverly falls in deeper.

She thinks about Nicole being here instead of Wynonna. Pouncing on her and shoving her against the wall of the gazebo. Sex is easy to think about, especially to teenagers and young adults. It serves as a distraction to the rest of life’s perilous misgivings. And what a distraction it would be: Waverly’s hand slipping beneath the waistband of her soccer shorts. Nicole seems like a fighter, she’d lean against the railing gripping the wood tightly until it splinters beneath her hands, fighting off the building pressure between her legs as Waverly works her fingers.

That tightly wound control threatening to slip as her hips jerk every time Waverly rubs her clit with a thumb. _“Oh fuck,”_ the redhead would moan throwing her head back, as a finger slips inside and finds her to be so ready. So wet. Waverly’s mouth goes dry at the thought. Instead of dropping down to her knees, the brunette reaches to wrap her other hand around the back of Nicole’s neck, pulling her closer for a kiss. Her pulse beating like a drum underneath Waverly’s fingers. Waverly would lick her way into Nicole’s mouth, tasting vanilla dipped donuts on her tongue, sucking her bottom lip, her soft _sinfully plush_ lip until she can no longer resist to urge to bite into it.

 _“Oh fuck baby, please,”_ Nicole moans again into her mouth before separating and leaning her forehead against Waverly’s shoulder. Her body trembling and Waverly slips another finger inside, thrusting rapidly. No control. No restraint. Every thrust is endless and even as Nicole fists her hands into Waverly’s shirt, she doesn’t stop. _Waverly, baby, —Oh fuck, Waverly Waverly Waverly_ a prayer whispered breathlessly into the brunette’s ear that has her working faster into Nicole’s wet heat. The redhead’s pulse is like thunder and Waverly grabs at her hair, the fiery locks are like silk between her fingers, even as she pulls and feels Nicole’s walls clench tightly around her fingers.

Waverly would make her come—there, in the gazebo, around her fingers. Gloriously spent, panting and exhausted that she has to lean onto Waverly’s smaller frame to keep upright. Her legs are jelly and she can’t move, ready to collapse with a lopsided smile that blossoms a fire within Waverly’s chest. Together they drop to the floor, the brunette keeps her close, the weight of her on top of her body would be comforting.

Solid and real.

Snapping out of it, Waverly finds her sister still rambling about some show she found on Netflix. Shaking the thoughts away, she continues to read her book and nod occasionally to Wynonna’s words.

 

 

“Waverly,” Rosita says quietly in the early hours of the morning, “Doc’s in the barn and your sisters are waiting downstairs.”

Waverly yawns, getting up from her little cot on the windowsill. The attic isn’t drafty anymore and she appreciates the Haughts having cleaned it up and making it into a usable room. It makes the disconnect all the more bearable.

“He’s a bit early, what time is it?” She asks rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she heads out of the attic with Rosita in tow.

“Close to four in the morning.” Rosita supplies and as they make it passed Nicole’s room, Waverly slows her pace a bit but the younger woman places a hand at her back, shoving her forward with a soft push. “Go, she’ll be alright.”

Waverly gives her a knowing look, and with a sigh the brunette disappears downstairs towards her sisters. She finds them in the living room lounging around, Wynonna laid out on the couch that has become her bed and nesting area, greet her with a wink. Willa, on the other hand, is less than pleased at having been kept waiting and just crosses her arms over her chest. Waverly doesn’t know where the eldest Earp slept, in all the years she never has; Willa ghosted around the homestead more than she or Wynonna did.

They head into the barn where Wynonna immediately tackles Doc upon seeing him. Jumping up into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Willa groans loudly, obnoxiously, at the show of affection and Waverly elbows her in the ribs. She receives at smack to the back of the head and while she’s more than awake to ram the nearest sharp object into the older woman’s throat, she thinks against it. Content to let it slide so Wynonna could have this one moment of peace.

When they separate, Doc glances towards the other sisters and smiles warmly, holding out his arms. Waverly hugs him back, giggling at the way his mustache tickles against her cheek. “Waverly, you get more and more beautiful every time I see you,” he says in an affectionate drawl. He then turns his attention to Willa who barely regards him with so much as a scoff. Doc tips his hat to her, ever the gentleman.

“You all have gotten acquainted with the new family, I assume,” he continues. “Word around town is that they are quite popular, having been welcomed into the community with open arms.”

“We’ve met them.” Wynonna says, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Good, the Haughts look like a promising set. Viktor Haught has become a consultant with the Purgatory Police and word’s spread that he’ll be working as a psychologist from within his own home.”

“Is there a point to this?” Willa asks coldly.

“Yes. We need to keep them around for a little while—a lot longer than the Hardys, please—the town likes them. Viktor is becoming a regular at Shorty’s, a well-liked one at that, and Nicole is on Ghost River’s soccer team.” he starts, “I came to ask you guys to integrate yourselves into their lives, Gus will come around later today to set up the ruse.”

“How?” Waverly speaks up this time.

“Viktor will be working as a psychologist, so Gus will come by and get you three into therapy. Give the man an interesting case to work on so he’ll keep you around regularly, just nothing too extreme.” He gives Willa a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me, I haven’t killed anyone in years.” Willa huffs. “If anything, you should be looking at Wav—”

 _“Willa!”_ Wynonna growls and that immediately shuts her up.

The eldest Earp rolls her eyes and stomps out of the barn, but not before she shares a strange look with Wynonna.

 

 

Gus puts them in therapy with Viktor Haught, who welcomes them warmly into his home and sets up treatment plans for all three. Willa is the first to enter his office that day, a room tucked away on the other side of the living room, separated by two large wooden doors that slide open.

They had gone over their roles, Willa’s would be that of an arrogant overachiever shouldering the burden of her father’s impossible expectations, Wynonna would be the recovering drug addict trying to keep everything together and Waverly is the youngest of a dysfunctional family trying not to slip through the cracks.

It’s almost poetic, really; drawing their imaginary stories from real life without the obvious gruesome details. Maybe during therapy, they would actually get to sort out their problems instead of moping around the homestead aimlessly. A comforting thought, but Waverly knew better. They spent close to three decades walking down the same hallways that only seemed to get darker and more cavernous as the years passed by.

Wynonna is the next one to enter and Waverly sits out in the living room reading one of her old books that she tucked away in the crawl space beneath the house. It’s Stephen King’s _The Shinning._ The spine is falling apart, and the pages are a dingy yellow color from years of abuse but it’s still good. From the corner of her eye she sees Rosita dusting the coffee table in a maid outfit and only stopping when the front door opens and she sees Nicole walking through, sweaty and in workout clothes.

“Hey Rosita,” The redhead greets with a blinding smile. “Is Dad still seeing patients?”

“Yes, but he’ll be done soon. Do you want me to make you something to eat in the mean time?” Doc introduced Rosita to the Haughts as the maid who took care of the house before them. They hired her instantly, paying her well.

“No, it’s okay, I’m just going to take a shower and relax in bed for a bit.” Nicole says softly. She never asks too much of Rosita; it’s endearing.

Nicole heads up the stairs and catches Waverly’s gaze. It’s heated, but there isn’t any animosity. Quite the opposite. A warmth washes over Waverly instantly, leaving her dazed as she watches Nicole disappear at the top of the stairs.

 

 

Viktor Haught bored Willa the moment they met him. Wynonna didn’t care one way or another. Open face, extremely expressive, sympathetic eyes, quiet and with fatherly concern that they had never seen before—he had the aura of a man who could actually do some good. But they were first-class liars, so really, Viktor was just another shrink who thought talking could solve their problems. They’ve been dead for so long, that those same problems were ingrained into their very being.

“So Wynonna, when did you first start taking drugs?”

“Years ago, my junior year of high school, I think,” Wynonna replies, settling into the loveseat. There’s a twisted smile on her face and Waverly can only roll her eyes. “It was at a party and my usual weed dealer didn’t have any of the good stuff and I wanted more.”

Wynonna insisted that Waverly and Willa sit in on her session with Viktor, but after a few minutes of her bullshit storytelling, Waverly takes her leave through the closed doors. They were going to start competing again and Waverly didn’t want to be around for it.

They competed over everything and it always got out of hand, usually ending with someone getting thrown down the stairs or having their throats split. Waverly didn’t have the energy to put up with it so early in the game, this time around.

Outside the office, the rest of the house is quiet save for the softly playing music she hears from upstairs. Sitting in the living room, _The Shinning_ on her lap as she flips the book open. Unconsciously, Waverly hums along to the song. It isn’t long until she’s joined by another person that she realizes that she had been singing.

Nicole is standing at the entrance to the living room. Wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants that hang loosely on her hips and a tight fitting green shirt with silver letters and the image of a snake in the middle.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry,” Nicole sputters and that catches Waverly’s attention even more. “I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Waverly flushes pink. Her face and neck suddenly feel warm. “It’s fine, um, I didn’t know you liked TLC.”

“Like? I _love_ them. They’re one of my favorite groups from the nineties.” Nicole smiles that dimpled smile that could make anyone in a three-mile radius swoon. “ _Waterfalls_ is such a classic.”

“Definitely,” Waverly says, taking a quick second to compose herself. “But _No Scrubs_ will always be the best.”

“You won’t find me arguing on that one.” Nicole’s honey-golden eyes are expressive, just like her father’s. Bright and animated. “What’s your take on NSYNC?”

“They’re the best boy band ever, better than the Backstreet Boys, hands down.” Waverly smiles at the little laugh Nicole makes, at the way she becomes more relaxed.

“Favorite song?”

“ _Bye Bye Bye_ , it’s really their signature song and the only one you need to listen to. Yours?”

“ _Tearin' Up My Heart_.” Nicole leans against the wooden frame of the living room entrance, crossing her arms over her chest and the action causes her tight shirt to slightly ride up revealing the tantalizing view of a sculpted v-line over a slender hip. She’s _way too relaxed_ and Waverly bites her bottom lip at the sight.

“Nice choice, um, are you just listening to music or…” Waverly doesn’t need a mirror to know that her face is a dark shade of red. “I mean, cause school and, uh—”

“I’m just listening to music,” Nicole says, casually. “Listening to all the classics.”

“Lucky, I’m just waiting on your dad to finish up with my sister.”

“Which one? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Wynonna, the annoying middle child.” Waverly giggles at the look of relief on Nicole’s face.

“Thank God,” The redhead pauses and scurries towards Waverly, her voice lowered to a whisper as if she was about to divulge in some long-held secret. “The other one scares me, no offense.”

She’s teasing. Waverly shakes her head as that dimpled smile returns. The brunette bursts into a fit of laughs when she notices Willa appear like a phantom behind Nicole, scowling at the redhead’s words.

“She is pretty scary.”

“Definitely.” Nicole looks at the book lying on Waverly’s lap. Her long fingers delicately stroking the battered cover. “You a fan of Stephen King, too?”

“Yep. Have been since the early days of his work, _The Shinning, Carrie_ and _Misery_ are my favorites. I even liked some of the books he wrote under his Richard Bachman pseudonym. _Rage_ is the premiere standout among them, while nicely written it was a bit too visceral for me. Reminded me of why I couldn’t stand _Cujo_ , a poor, lovable dog turning into a killer beast was one story I couldn’t follow,” Waverly bites the inside of her cheek. Suddenly aware that she was rambling and Nicole probably now thought of her as a nerd. So uncool. So—

“I like _Misery_ too; Annie Wilkes was one crazy bitch. And I liked _Cujo_ , yeah poor dog went nuts but it’s not that gory; now _the_ _film_ , that’s a horror show. The dog was covered in blood and slobber and it was just so gross.” Nicole makes a disgusted face before it changes to a soft one, voice warm and light. “Doesn’t seem like your sister will be let out anytime soon, wanna go upstairs and listen to some more music?”

“Music?”

“Well, yeah? I’d offer to watch a movie but I doubt we’d have the time.”

“Oh, um, sure.” The flush on Waverly’s neck spreads down the collar of her shirt. A delicate shade of pink that goes unnoticed by Nicole as they get up from the couch and head up the stairs. But it does not go unnoticed by Willa.

The eldest Earp sister watches them go up the stairs with hawk-like eyes, arms crossed over her chest with a look of clear disdain on her face. She doesn’t approve, going as far to reach out to Waverly’s spirit in an attempt to bring her back down. But Waverly doesn’t care, she only slips into Nicole’s room with an extra pep in her step just to spite her.

“Wow, look at all the trophies.” Waverly feigns shock and awe; as if she hadn’t already seen them. “There’s so many, you must be one hell of a player.”

“Yeah, in sports too.”

The cockiness in her tone isn’t overladen with empty bravado and insecurity, like she’s use to. No, Nicole’s a cocky little shit, but she’s confident and smooth. A shiver runs down Waverly’s spine.

“Of course you are,” Waverly rolls her eyes as Nicole leans over her stereo system above her desk. Scrolling her thumb over the screen of her iPhone that it was hooked up to. She’s there for a minute or two until music starts to play from the speakers.

The music is clearly a hip-hop song, upbeat and funky. (Wow you’re so fucking old.) The kind of song everyone knew and danced to, whenever it came on. Even if they didn’t remember the name.

 _Poison_ by Bell Biv DeVoe.

Nicole plops down the bed, on her back with her limbs outstretched in every direction. She rolls her shoulders, before recoiling her arms and legs and turning over into her side. Patting the space beside her for Waverly to join her on the bed.

“Come on,” Nicole says, bobbing her head from left to right in tune with the song. “I don’t bite.”

 _But I do,_ Waverly thinks. She’s about to just walk around the room and take her seat on the chair by the desk, but instinct wins out and she’s on the bed. Thankfully, the bed is big enough for them have their own space and not be squished together.

The bed is soft, the sheets possibly made from Egyptian cotton. But what Waverly really takes away from laying on Nicole’s bed is the scent that envelopes her in a supple caress. The smell of vanilla dipped donuts fills Waverly, the goodness of it all attracts her like a moth to a flame. It’ll burn her, sear the flesh from her bones if she gets too close—but she can’t stay away. Even if she tried.

 

 

Problem is, all that goodness attracts evil. Attracts it the same way sharks are towards blood; ravenous and hungry.

Waverly first notices it, one night when she’s awoken to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Wiping the sleep from eyes, the brunette steps out of the attic and sees a shadowed figure walking up and down the hallway past the Haughts’ bedroom doors. It moves, almost like it’s in a trance like state, rigid and controlled. The figure is dressed from head to toe in black, void of all light, except for the small smattering of light that shimmers across its body. Almost like it’s warped around its shape—taking a step closer, Waverly realizes what the shadowed figure is.

_The Rubber Man._

Waverly had seen it a handful of times during her years in the homestead. A BDSM gimp suit that had been brought in by the couple that moved into the home three years after the massacre. Wynonna and Willa managed to scare the couple away, forcing them to leave the house after Willa maimed one of them and killed their visiting friend. When their belongings were cleaned out they had forgotten the suit and since no one was willing to come back for it, it stayed on the property.

Wynonna and Willa had taken turns putting the suit on, using it as one of the prime ways to terrify the residents. It terrifies Waverly herself; a faceless shadow moving around the homestead, entirely made of black latex that covers every inch of skin leaving nothing discernibly human about the wearer. And when it wasn’t either one of her sisters taking the suit out for a spin, it comes to life all on its own.

“At it again, huh?” Waverly turns to find Willa standing beside her, watching the gimp suit walk up and down the hallway with an even look. Careful to not give too much away. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” Waverly asks, not liking her elder sister’s cryptic tone.

“Go to sleep, Waverly.” Willa snaps before disappearing.

The Rubber Man is still walking up and down the hallway. Waverly slips through the walls into Nicole’s room. She finds the redhead sound asleep, snoring softly. Completely unaware of the shadow outside her bedroom door.

Waverly stays in Nicole’s room for the rest of the night.

 

 

The Haughts have been living in the homestead for close to five months. There’s only a month left of the spring semester and the therapy sessions were going well. They were making some progress, but the sisters knew just went to “relapse” to continue the treatment.

Waverly and Wynonna take to _visibly_ hanging around the homestead during the days they were scheduled for an appointment, getting to know Nicole on a more personal level that in turn had them around more often under the guise of friendship. Willa disappears during this time, not wanting to get involved.

Nicole and Wynonna take to each other like the best friends they could’ve been in a different life. They were thick as thieves, staying up all night watching bad horror movies, throwing popcorn at each other when one of them did or said something particularly snarky. Nicole even sneaks them into the house after midnight when her father’s asleep or busy at the police station to get high.

It surprises them both; seeing their White Knight do something that didn’t fit the picture-perfect ideal they had built up. Waverly is hesitant at first, she’s never even smoked a cigarette and the only time she ever drank alcohol was _after_ her death. But with her sister’s good-natured jabs and Nicole’s watchful eyes, easing her through the process: hand on her shoulder, soft and reassuring guiding through the motions of inhaling, letting the smoke fill her lungs and then exhaling. A shiver runs down Waverly’s spine at the contact, the warmth of Nicole’s hand and the spark she feels when the redhead’s index finger lingers a bit too long on her neck; lightly tracing over her pulse.

It becomes a sort of routine for them, hanging out at night doing what friends do. For an entire month, even through final exams and the end of the soccer season, they come together at the homestead and spend time with Nicole.

One night, Nicole invites her best friend Xavier Dolls—who prefers to go just by Dolls—and they take a trip far out into the land and hold an impromptu bonfire. He’s a large man, menacing, with what appears to be a permanent scowl etched into his face. But he softens up and while he doesn’t speak much, he’s very expressive with his face. Wynonna likes Dolls instantly, evident in the way she blatantly flirts with him; the amusement she finds when she gets under his skin with a couple of well-placed remarks that has him sputtering around a can of beer.

Waverly and Nicole stay close together. Laughing at the way Wynonna and Dolls start to argue over proper weed etiquette.

“You’re supposed to pass it around, puff, puff, pass!” Wynonna growls struggling to grab the joint that Dolls keeps out of her reach.

“You have any idea how much I had to pay for this?”

“Not enough for you to be stingy, you jackass!”

Unlike them, Waverly and Nicole knew how to share. Passing their rolled-up joint between each other. The taste of vanilla dipped donuts lingers lightly around the wrapping. They’re friends, but not with the partners-in-crime dynamic the redhead had formed so seamlessly with her sister. No, their relationship was much closer than that. Sometimes, Nicole would sneak Waverly in through her window at night and they would spend the whole night talking, listening to music and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Other times Waverly would appear out of nowhere and say that she sneaked herself in through an open window.

Of course, such interaction is strictly forbidden, Waverly’s her father’s patient. She goes to the homestead for therapy sessions, not to be friends with her therapist’s daughter.

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Everyone thinks they’re just friends.

But Waverly doesn’t want to be _just_ _friends_. And she knows Nicole doesn’t either. Not when it gets late and they put out the fire and Waverly stretches her arms into the air and the crop-top she wears rides a little higher than usual. Nicole’s eyes running over the expanse of her midriff with a heated gaze that ignites a fever under the brunette’s skin.

She figures if she kept this up Nicole would be hers in no time.

 

 

At least until the end of May when Nicole cancels their scheduled hang out and leaves the house, phone and keys in hand. She doesn’t return that night and Waverly spends the entirety of that evening worried sick. She thinks about using Nicole’s laptop to check her social media profiles for anything indicating where she might have gone. Usually there was something, at least a conversation over the phone with Dolls or someone that would’ve told the brunette where the woman was going.

But Waverly thinks against it, that’s crossing the line. Too controlling, too possessive.

She wouldn’t be selfish with Nicole.

She can’t.

 

 

When Waverly first sees Shae, she’s astounded by her beauty. A gorgeous, bronze-skinned woman with dark, mahogany hair and big brown eyes. Elegantly stylish with a bright future ahead of her. She’s attending Ghost River University as a student in their medical program; she wants to be a heart surgeon.

Shae Pressman, the beautiful, soon to be heart surgeon, “with an ass that won’t quit”—according to Wynonna.

A part of her wants to like Shae. She knows she can’t be selfish with Nicole, it wouldn’t be right. After all, they were nothing but friends. Just friends. So, Waverly tries to like her, because Nicole likes her and because the woman had done nothing to warrant such dislike from her.

To Waverly’s credit, she tries. Even when Shae joins them for another impromptu bonfire and has everyone in stitches with some joke she had heard in her Physiology class, she tries to like her. But it doesn’t work. Not when Nicole and Shae are sitting so close together, smiling and giggling, _kissing._ Wynonna thankfully throws her empty box of donuts at them to get them to stop, and they do. Giggling even more.

No one notices the brunette’s dislike, not when she’s the one playing the role of the supportive best friend. Still, in one of her favorite crop tops, she stands and stretches when the night’s over, letting the shirt ride a little higher than normal to reveal more of her midriff. Nicole’s eyes may follow her movements but they ultimately shoot back towards Shae.

There’s no fever under Waverly’s skin this time.

Just an ache.

 

 

Nicole spends more time out of the house, now.

Instead of hanging out with Dolls or any of her other friends, she’s with her girlfriend. Waverly gags at the thought. She doesn’t hate Shae, she thinks the woman to be quite lovely in fact. It’s just that Nicole liked her, and she liked Nicole back. Effortlessly pushing the brunette out of contingency for a place in the redhead’s heart.

Even as Nicole grabs her phone and keys, telling her dad she was staying at Shae’s dorm for the night, a fire is lit under her skin.

Waverly doesn’t hate Shae, doesn’t even _dislike_ her.

She just wants her out of their lives.

 

 

The next night Nicole’s in her bed and Waverly hangs around, melting through the headboard to get a glimpse over her shoulder at what she does on her phone. Mostly playing a colorful game about matching candies. It’s a mindless endeavor that really is boring, but Waverly likes the way Nicole’s brows are furrowed in concentration.

She looks adorable.

That is until the phone dings and a message pops up on screen:

**( mssg // shae // 12:42 P.M. )**

_Last night was great._

_Sorry we had to go to bed early_

 

**( mssg // nicole // 12:45 P.M. )**

_It’s cool, you had to meet with your professor in the morning_

_I get it_

_We still on for the lake house, right?_

**( mssg // shae // 12:47 P.M. )**

_Yeah, just let me know when you’ve gotten the reservation_

_I’ll be sure to wear something nice ;)_

_Maybe your favorite from the spring catalogue_

**( mssg // nicole // 12:48 P.M. )**

_Victoria’s Secret black lace edition?_

_Baby, come on! You’re killing me…_

_Sneak peek please_

**( mssg // shae // 12:49 P.M. )**

_Begging or telling me, daddy?_

_Sounds like begging_

**( mssg // nicole // 12:49 P.M. )**

_I’m asking, baby._

A minute passes before the phone dings again and Waverly is out the door the second Nicole loosens the drawstring on her pajama bottoms.

 

 

It isn’t long until their relationship takes a sexual turn.

In hindsight, it was bound to happen judging from the way they would sit so close together whenever Shae came over. Always touching, skin to skin, gazes lingering a bit too long for it be nothing but friendly. It all comes to a head, one late afternoon when Viktor is called away to the police station for some reason or another. Shae’s at the homestead again and with Nicole’s dad being gone for the night, they were definitely going to make use of the time they had alone in the house.

Waverly doesn’t want to be around for it, but her spirit is pulled to Nicole’s room despite her protests. Wynonna is there, helping herself to a bottle of bourbon, watching them take each other’s clothes off. Wynonna is amused, she offers the bottle to Waverly, who shakes her head.

“Good for you, Haughtshit.” The older Earp sister praises with the bottle raised. Wynonna doesn’t stay for the rest of it, she heads down to the basement for some time in the wine cellar.

Waverly ought to have gone with her, drink her sorrows away. To be far away from the woman she liked getting fucked; the sight and sound of it would’ve torn her heart in two had she stayed. Good God, no.

No one could be that masochistic.

But Waverly is.

 

 

The following day Waverly has an appointment scheduled with Viktor in the early morning. She usually looks forward to their sessions; there’s just something about talking to a complete stranger about your problems that’s absolutely freeing. Especially since she’s completely barred her sisters from sitting in on them, plus the doctor-patient confidentiality agreement ensures that what’s said in the man’s office doesn’t get repeated anywhere else.

This isn’t one of those days.

Waverly is incredibly irritable, a complete 180 from her usual bubbly persona. Wynonna and Willa took notice instantly, but kept their distance. The sisters had come to an agreement long ago that if one was in a horribly foul mood, the other two would let them be; several times after their deaths they had pushed fought each other and since they couldn’t die again, they took the advantage to be particularly vicious with one another. They had slit each other’s throats several times. Literally.

Inside Viktor Haught’s office, she feels like she’s suffocating. The spacious room is suddenly unnaturally small and the sound of the man’s pen gliding across his notepad grates on every nerve in her body.

“Have you done your breathing exercise as we have discussed, Waverly?”

“No.” She’s not even human. Ghosts don’t need air to function. A ghost breathes simply because they’re used to the action of inhaling and exhaling, an unbreakable habit, a stupid tick that is passed over from their life before death.

(Like caring.)

Viktor is scribbling in his notepad, again.

Waverly starts grinding her teeth.

“Is everything alright at home?”

Waverly glances over at Viktor’s face. It’s sympathetic, his honey-golden eyes are soft and bright. She hates him today, hates his eyes especially. “You know you can tell me if something’s going on at home,” even his voice is sickeningly sweet.

“Everything’s fine Doctor Haught, I just had a long night. Couldn’t sleep.”

“What seems to be troubling you?”

Waverly looks at him curiously. Those eyes stare back with an openness that drives her insane. She thinks about telling him, telling him that she wants nothing more than to be with his daughter. That they belong together because they’re soulmates and in another universe, they would’ve been together anyways. That she can’t even look him directly in the eye because all she sees are his daughter’s pupils blown wide open in unadulterated lust that makes her damn pussy throb!

For Christ’s sake, the tips of her ears on fire at the mere memory of watching Nicole getting fucked. The sounds she made—the way her body, pale skin slicked with sweat and flushed a dark shade of pink, trembled as her orgasm rips through her. The way her thighs quivered with every motion of Shae’s fingers, riding it out. Nicole came gloriously and Waverly had to choke back a groan when she collapsed to the floor, legs numb and the inside of her thighs uncomfortably wet.

She doesn’t tell him anything, of course. Waverly draws from one of the practiced lines she went over with Wynonna and Doc when composing their “life”. “I-I’m just a bit stressed about my college courses.”

“Well that’s quite alright, when life gets to be a bit overwhelming, it’s a sign that we need to take a step back and take a deep breath. Clear our minds.” He suggests. “Try it with me now.”

With a sigh, Waverly closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. A simple mantra meant to be repeated continuously until she’s calm. In a state of tranquility. Viktor wants her to take the next few minutes of their session to meditate.

He tells her to imagine a stream of water, endless and stagnant. Simple. And she does, she imagines standing in the middle of a lake. The flow of the water passing by her knees, it’s a bit cold. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Everything in the world is at peace for this one moment— until the water rises and she starts thrashing within it. Drowning.

Waverly shoots her eyes open and finds the Rubber Man standing behind Viktor, a noose in its hands. It’s the first time she had ever seen the gimp suit move about during the day. The brunette stares at the shadowy figure, unsure what to do.

“Waverly are you alright?” Viktor asks.

“Yes!” She answers a bit too quickly and while he raises a brow, he accepts it.

The Rubber Man is frozen still, holding that noose above the man’s head.

 

 

Shae returns a few more times to the homestead; each time leads to a heated make out session that ultimately ends in sex. And then suddenly, come mid-July, they weren’t together anymore. Their summertime fling nothing more than a memory.

It doesn’t make any sense, they were—Waverly gags a little—perfect for each other. The doctor to be and the hotshot athlete, a timeless cliché that would’ve made the guests at their wedding and their future kids giggle. Besides that, the sex was mind blowing. Both Waverly and Wynonna can attest to this, due to all the moaning they would hear and the smell of sex that saturates the redhead’s room afterwards. And while she’s overjoyed that Shae’s gone from their lives, she still wants to know what happened to end their relationship.

At night when Waverly takes Nicole’s phone to look at their recent text messages, she’s disappointed when she finds nothing of value. The messages indicated that Nicole had spent the last few days texting Shae only to receive no answer in return. Apparently, Shae was leaving Purgatory for a week to visit her parents down in Calgary before returning for their trip to the lake house.

She left in the early morning and didn’t even send a goodbye text.

The brunette looks over at Nicole sleeping soundly, hair is splayed about her pillow like a fiery halo. Putting the phone back on the dresser, she leans over brushes the hair out of her face. Tucking some of the loose strands behind her ear. Her hair is silky, velvety, just like how Waverly had always imagined it would be.

But what really catches the brunette’s attention, is the pinched look on Nicole’s usually relaxed sleeping face. It tugs at Waverly’s chest, begrudgingly so.

With a sigh, Waverly places the gentlest of kisses on her cheek.

_Sorry this one didn’t work out._

 

 

The next night, Waverly appears to Nicole at the front door. Nicole was going to spend her night at home and Waverly just had to take advantage. She’s wearing a crop-top again, this time from Shorty’s, and high-waisted jeans.

The outfit sparks something behind Nicole’s eyes, it flickers deliciously in her honey-golden irises. Waverly licks her lips, expectantly. Already imagining the redhead slamming her up against the nearest wall and crashing their lips together, fucking her against it until she’s nothing more than a puddle around her fingers.

Nothing happens and they head upstairs to start watching season 4 of Buffy.

They lay on her bed in silence. Something that’s never happened before. Waverly can sense the tension in the room and she turns over in bed to face Nicole, who isn’t as interested in the show as she usually is.

“Nicole?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?” She asks, the sudden nervousness that radiates from Nicole worries her.

“Nothing,” cut and dry. “I’m good.”

But Waverly doesn’t buy it.  “Something’s up with you and be both know it. I mean Faith is on screen kicking demon ass and you’re not drooling over her.”

There’s silence between them again, until Nicole sighs.

“I miss her.” The brunette bites the inside of her cheek to refrain from rolling her eyes. She tastes blood.

“I miss her so much… I just don’t get it; how could she just leave without telling me anything? Not even a goodbye? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know, but maybe she was in a rush?”

“It’s been three days and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts, this isn’t like her.” Nicole is tense, shoulders trembling. “I’m worried she could be hurt. That something might have happened.”

Waverly raises her eyebrows in surprise, “What? No, Shae’s fine. Probably having such a great time at her parents that she forgot.”

“Maybe, I just can’t help this feeling that something’s wrong…” Nicole trails off, looking so unlike the confident woman she had been when she first moved into the homestead. “I-I’ll give it until the end of the week.”

Waverly reaches out and brushes a thumb along Nicole’s cheek. The muscle beneath it jumps, but settles back as a blush colors her cheek. “Relax, everything’s going to be okay.”

“Hopefully.”

“Trust me.”

Nicole nods her head and Waverly feels like she could fly.

 

 

The Rubber Man makes another appearance.

At the end of July, Waverly finds the horrid gimp suit standing in front of Nicole’s bedroom door. Arms crossed over its chest, the shadowy figure isn’t pacing up and down the hallway this time. It just stands in front of Nicole’s door as if barricading the door to keep someone out.

Waverly doesn’t think that the Rubber Man will be a threat to Nicole. Doesn’t seem like the suit is intending to cause the redhead any sort of bodily harm, instead it acts more like a protector. The way it even regards her in the hallway, staring at her with its vacant face, waiting for the brunette to try something in front of it. Nevertheless, Waverly slips through the walls and watches over Nicole.

She doesn’t trust the gimp suit. There’s an evil radiating from it, a toxicity that she wouldn’t risk letting near the redhead. The homestead is a fucked-up place and it ruins everything and everyone.

She won’t let it ruin Nicole.

 

 

Despite assuring Nicole that everything would be okay, Waverly can’t help but feel the dread that settles into her bones.

It’s been a week, almost a week and a half and Shae hasn’t been seen since. A missing person’s report is filed and within a couple of days the police are doing their usual rounds to find information.

When it’s revealed that the police found Shae’s car abandoned off a dirt road near the Ghost River Preserve, just a mile or two away from the lake, a search is launched. They fear foul play and Nicole is in tears by the end of the day when the news breaks.

Waverly doesn’t know what to do.

 

 

Outside of the homestead Waverly’s body becomes cold as ice. She’s a shadow of herself, of a human, walking the earth like an actual ghost. The homestead and the land surrounding it had given enough for her to believe the delusion that she could still retain some semblance of humanity. She’s alive there. Outside she barely exists, pulled between two worlds that don’t want her.

Her only chance at freedom is Halloween; she’ll be able to step of the homestead and feel complete for twenty-four hours. Until then she’d have to settle with her spirit clinging onto Wynonna’s for support as they scoured the forest for any sign of Shae. It wasn’t her idea, but Nicole had come to them with those honey-golden eyes bloodshot, pink and puffy from crying. They were never going to say no, not when the heart-broken sight of their White Knight tore them apart.

Along with a group of fifty volunteers they scour the area where Shae’s car had been first abandoned. It’s dark out, as they comb through the forest. Nothing but a flashlight to light the way. The woods are eerily quiet and Waverly feels like she’s being watched, every movement carefully counted and measured.

Unfortunately, she’s right.

A group of teenagers appear before them, when they make far into forest away from the rest of the search team. Their clothing marred by dirt and grime, one of them looked like they had been drenched in water and another had blood horrifically oozing from their chest. Instantly they circle the sisters.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Waverly raises her brow, she feels Wynonna push herself in front of her. As if to shield her.

“Alright, you Breakfast Club rejects, get the hell out of here,” Wynonna says, trying to keep her voice friendly. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“After all these years,” says one of the boys, hair short with the tips frosted. He’s wearing a letterman jacket, blue and white—Purgatory High School’s colors—he’s the one with blood on his chest. “You finally come out of hiding. We’ve been waiting forever to see you again, Waverly.”

Waverly is startled by the use of her name. She tries to see their faces better in the darkness of the forest, but there was nothing recognizable about them. The look of confusion on her face only seems to anger them, the boy in the letterman jacket sneers and moves closer but Wynonna keeps him back.

“Move out of the way,” the boy snarls viciously, foaming blood at the mouth. “I only want the bitch in the back!”

“Fuck that, she’s just as responsible. Aren’t ya, Wynonna?” The pretty blonde says, she’s the one drenched in water.

“Let’s just kill them both,” added the boy behind her. He looked different than the others, more normal. “It’s not like anyone would go looking for them.”

“We don’t know who you are, but you fuckers really need to back the fuck up,” Wynonna bites and the boy in the letterman jacket, the leader of the group, laughs.

“Seriously? You _kill_ _us_ and then pretend you don’t _know us?_ Come on, I’m offended.” The large boy continues, voice scathing. He turns his gaze towards Waverly, and Wynonna scowls. “I’m hurt that you, especially, would pretend to forget me. Waverly, I was your boyfriend, remember?”

“Don’t talk to her.” The elder Earp says firmly, but the boy disregards her completely.

“Don’t you remember all those late night talks we had in my room? All the times we hung out listening to music? All the times we fucked and how I would come home after football practice and you would beg me to fuck you—”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” The boy roars, eyes red with fury. “You stabbed me over fifty times! Stabbed me so much the handle broke off the knife, and what did you do then? You rubbed dirt into my wounds and shattered my jaw with your foot.”

Waverly blinks. “N-No, that’s impossible… I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Until us, you bitch.” The blonde girl sneers, “Picked us all off one by one, we couldn’t even defend ourselves because you tied us up. You killed Champ first and then you dragged me all the way to the lake to drown me, but you ran out of energy to do it by yourself and called on your sister to help you.”

“Champ?”

“Right here babe,” the first boy says with an ugly laugh. “I’m Champ _Fucking_ Hardy, ring a bell now? You wanted to slit my throat but thought that I had to die slowly, because I was such a jerk to you.”

“Don’t listen to them baby girl, it’s not true.” Wynonna turns them around and ushers them to move back towards the search party. Hurriedly. “I killed them all and they’re just trying to scare you.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling her all these years?” the malice in the blonde girl’s voice is thick. She grabs Waverly away from Wynonna, spinning her so they’d be face to face. Her eyes are pale and white, lifeless. In another life, they would’ve been blue. Or green.

“I’m Stephanie Jones, we met once at a party Champ held at his house. You thought I was cute, thought I was pretty enough to be a supermodel. We could’ve been friends, but you decided to drown me in the lake for no reason other than you wanted to.”

“We were just collateral damage,” the other boy chimed in, the more normal looking one. “You wanted Champ dead and that would’ve been fine, he’s an asshole and you were already a ghost when we met. No one would’ve solved that murder, but you didn’t stop with him.”

Wynonna moves to push the blonde—Stephanie Jones, now—but she gets intercepted and they hold her back. Throwing her down to the ground. Waverly is instantly at her sister’s side.

“I was never going to be anything special, I know that now. At best, I was just going to enroll into Ghost River, join the football team and then eventually just settle in Purgatory like everyone else does. Go to Shorty’s and drink until I was old and gray. Stephanie would’ve had her parents to fall back on, they were rich and would’ve payed for everything until she found a way to make money at being a makeup artist; if not, she would’ve hitched her skirt up for the first rich man to come her way.”

“We don’t give a shit about your sob story, you tool.” Wynonna mocks, wrapping an arm protectively around her sister.

“You wanna know whose sob story you _should_ give a shit about?” Champ growls, before pointing to the other boy. “ _His._ Perry was smart, he tutored kids in Math and Science. This guy was on the honor roll and he was going to be valedictorian; could’ve been a scientist! I was never going to the change the world, okay? But he could have.”

“Could’ve done some real good in the world, but you snuffed it out.” On cue, Perry turns around and Waverly gasps as she sees the back of his head. Blown open, nothing more than just a mangled mess of blood and meat, brain matter hanging on by a thread. “A single bullet to the back of the head.”

“Maybe you were being merciful with him, but how could you be when you were wearing that disgusting suit!” A kick to Waverly’s stomach and she groans, the air rushing out of her stomach.

There’s a flash of light in the darkness, far away, but unmistakable.

Waverly looks the teenagers in the eye, the face of these strangers that seemed to know her so well, desperately searching for a spark of recognition. The tiniest memory that would link them all together. She finds nothing.

“I should be in my forties by now,” Stephanie sobs. Tears flowing freely. “Married, with children, _grandchildren_ maybe…”

“I’m sorry I killed you,” Wynonna says quietly, holding Waverly tight. “I’m sorry.”

They shake their head, frustrated and hurt. Perry reaches over and pulls a crying Stephanie away. “Let’s go,” he says softly. “After thirty years, nothing’s going to change.”

Champ lingers a bit longer. His eyes are vacant as he looks at Waverly, one last time. “You may have forgotten, and your sister is so keen on keeping you that way, but you know. _You know._ You killed us, just like you killed that other girl.”

 

 

Upon returning to the homestead, Waverly locks herself away in the attic. Wynonna comes by to check on her occasionally, trying to coax her out, but it doesn’t work. Rosita tries inane chitchat to get her out of the attic and Doc comes by when the Haughts are out to speak with her, but still, nothing’s working. Not when she’s frightened. Frightened of what those dead teenagers meant and of herself.

On the makeshift cot by the windowsill, Waverly stares at the ceiling for hours. Trying to piece together what they had said to her, why they had immediately rejected any notion of Wynonna being their murderer. Champ, Stephanie and Perry were obviously ghosts; animated with their rage and anger. Their murderous need for retribution, one that Waverly couldn’t give them. A cold chill fills Waverly’s bones at how they knew her: Champ was her boyfriend and Stephanie and Perry were her friends? How viciously they spoke about her and Wynonna, practically foaming at the mouth at how much they wanted to disembowel them.

They knew about the homestead, knew that she had spent close to the last thirty years holed up in it. They were waiting for her. All this time, they were waiting for her to show up. She doesn’t remember them. There isn’t a single memory in her brain that included them, sure she did have a fling with a human boy in the early to mid-nineties that moved into the homestead, it was all blurry. She’s sure that, that boy wasn’t Champ, but who’s to say?

Her head hurt with so many unanswered questions. And on top of that, Champ, the group’s ringleader, who claimed that she had killed him in a frenzy, accuses that she killed Shae. Waverly will admit that she didn’t like how close the woman was to Nicole, how utterly perfect they were together, and wanted her out of the picture completely. But to go as far as to kill her? That’s utter bullshit. She could never kill her knowing just how much it would affect Nicole.

Besides being a killer, Champ mentioned how she wore the gimp suit to commit the supposed murders. Waverly’s chest tightens at the thought of putting on that horrid suit, her skin crawls at the thought of suffocating under all that latex. It terrifies her to think that at one point she could’ve been walking around wearing it and—oh God, had Nicole _seen_ her with it?

She couldn’t bear the thought of Nicole being afraid of her.

She may have avoided the other ghosts in the house but she always stood by Nicole. Always checking to make sure that she’d gotten into bed alright, disappearing before she woke. Standing by whenever she had dinner with her father, watching them forlornly as an uncomfortable silence settles around them as they ate. They were close, close in a way Waverly could have never been with Ward, and to see them sit at the dinner table like strangers hurt.

At night, Nicole slaves away over her laptop, peering at the screen until the early morning looking for any updates on Shae’s disappearance. Usually, Waverly has to shut the computer off while she’s working, engaging in an annoying cat and mouse game of _on off on off_ until Nicole gives up and heads to bed. Muttering that she would take the laptop to get fixed in the morning.

Other times, Nicole lies in bed thinking about everything and nothing. Really, a painful existence that has Waverly appearing at the house more often.

 

 

They spend an entire day watching films from the 90s and 80s, the classics.

They’re halfway through _Sixteen Candles_ when Waverly stops watching. Focused more on Nicole’s breathing and the sound of her heart beating softly against her chest. The heat radiating from her is warm, but it isn’t as strong as it usually is.

Occasionally, Waverly tells Nicole that everything will be alright.

“I’m sorry about Shae, Nic. I really am.” A part of her doesn’t care. Ecstatic that the woman disappeared and, a bit darkly, Waverly hoped she was dead and stayed that way.

She didn't need an eternity of Shae Pressman's ghost competing with her. Although, the thought of maiming her without suffering an sort of consequences was tempting.

 

 

And then everything changes.

Boys to Men plays softly from the speakers as Waverly nestles into Nicole’s side on the bed. They don’t talk, just lay there in the quiet of her room listening to music. A somber feeling hangs heavily in the air, and Waverly can feel Nicole’s light start to dim. As if she’s slipping through her fingers and Waverly can’t keep her together.

Without thinking, Waverly does the  _un_ thinkable: she licks her lips, raises her head and gives the redhead the lightest of kisses. Her entire body is on edge as a sudden wave of alarm hits her when there’s no response. Cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, ready to pull away and crawl into a ditch somewhere until a warm hand slides into her hair keeping her still.

The kiss is soft, intoxicating— _she actually does taste like vanilla dipped donuts,_  and that fact has Waverly wanting more.

It becomes frantic, needy as Waverly readily parts her lips and feels a pink tongue instantly search out hers. Slick and clever, a rush of heat blossoms in her chest and the brunette feels herself suddenly on the bed. They break apart for air then, and Nicole pulls her own shirt over her head. Those honey-golden eyes darken with a lust so pure, Waverly had no words.

Not when she marvels at the beauty between her legs. The mere sight of those devilish eyes and that skillful tongue running over decadent lips; but Waverly shakes her head. This isn’t about her. Not tonight. She flips Nicole over and straddles her hips.

Waverly’s teeth find their way to her neck. Nipping and biting, the redhead moaning at the bittersweet feeling.

“Ah, fuck,” Nicole’s breath becomes rigid and Waverly eagerly drinks in every reaction she pulls out of the redhead. Trailing her fingers down her toned stomach, barely touching her skin as she reaches the apex of her thighs.

Nicole hisses and arcs into the Waverly’s hand as the brunette’s fingertips brush over her tender, swollen clit. Her whole body ached for more, and Waverly is ecstatic at how responsive she is towards her ministrations. It’s addictive really, to see just how easily Nicole bends to her touch, much like a drug but giving her, a high no drug could ever reach.

“Waves,” a breathless whisper escapes Nicole’s lips as Waverly lightly kisses down her neck, nipping gently at the already sensitive skin as she moves lower.

Waverly adores Nicole. Adores the way the redhead keeps her eyes closed shut, chest rising and falling with every breath as she trails a blazing path across her breasts. Pausing briefly to lick at each of her painfully hard nipples, swirling the tip of her tongue and earning a moan for her efforts, before continuing down.

She hears a whimper from Nicole’s lips and her chest tightens at the sound, a rush of heat flooding between her thighs at Nicole’s need to be touched. To feel something. Waverly can’t deny her that, she could never deny her anything.

Waverly smiles against Nicole’s heated skin before shifting her body down lower. Fingers dancing over the soft, smooth skin of her inner thighs. Against the wet center aching to be touched. Without hesitation Waverly gives a languid lick against her slit, intoxicated by the taste, she slips her tongue between the wet folds gingerly. Nicole fills the entirety of her senses and every nerve in her body comes to life like a livewire.

“Fuck...” A hand slithers its way into her hair, gripping tightly and Waverly leans her head into it. Relishing the feel of Nicole’s body tensing up. The wiry muscles rippling beneath the skin so deliciously, she bites into her thigh eliciting a groan that has the redhead’s spine arching off the bed. The imprint of her teeth, red and glorious against the pale flesh.

The perfect mark.

Waverly teasingly swirls her tongue against Nicole’s throbbing clit, pressing the flat of her tongue against it as she deftly slides two fingers inside of her hot, pulsating core. Feeling the redhead’s walls stretch delectably, ripping a hiss from deep within Nicole’s chest that has the brunette thrusting as far as she can. She’s tight around her fingers, clamping down in a vice like grip that makes stars form behind Waverly’s eyes.

Looking up, she finds those honey-golden eyes wild with lust; a penetrating smolder. Waverly grips Nicole’s left thigh to keep her hips from bucking with every thrust of her fingers. Hard. Fast. She’s relentless with her movements, eager to have the woman come around her. She can feel the edges of an intense orgasm building quickly. Nicole is panting above her and Waverly slithers up her body and captures her lips, a selfish act to devour every pant, every moan, every needy sound that brings Nicole further and further towards the edge.

Fingers curling, Waverly’s body shivers as Nicole lets out a breathless moan around her name that explodes a fire inside her chest. Nicole’s walls snap tightly around her fingers as she comes, a glorious sight that no fantasy could ever hold a candle to.

When Nicole finally falls asleep, sometime close to dawn, Waverly couldn’t take her eyes off her. Running her fingertips up and down her arms, stroking the contours of her toned stomach and thighs, softly. Tracing the marks she left across the pale skin, the red and purplish bruises blooming with her possession over the redhead’s body. The brunette becomes giddy when she touches her own neck and finds the imprint of Nicole’s teeth on the curve of her throat. Reminding her of the way Nicole had been so determined to slip between her thighs and bring her to the edge.

She feels Nicole entwine their hands, saw the glimmer of peace in her sleepy eyes as the redhead wraps an arm around her waist. Pulling the brunette to nestle her back against her front. The warmth that radiates from her skin lulling her to sleep.

“Sleep, Waverly,” Nicole murmurs sleepily, and Waverly lets herself drift to sleep, never releasing her hand.

Never letting go.


End file.
